Family Relations with a Twist
by luvscharlie
Summary: Dean's love for Sam has changed over the years. Sam/Dean


_**Family Relations with a Twist**_** by Luvscharlie**

_Warnings:__ Wincest, Oral sex. _

_A/N: Originally written for the prompt "Two sides of the same coin" at the fandom_fridays community on Live Journal and for "Never could imagine there were ten million ways to love somebody" at the salt_burn_porn community on Live Journal. For the record, the salt_burn_porn community requires that the fic be written in 24 hours from the time you receive the prompt, and under those time constraints this is what I came up with. I was actually quite happy with this.  
_

* * *

I never could have imagined all those years ago that this was how it would turn out. I mean I have this really vague and fuzzy memory of Mom and Dad bringing home this terrible looking little tomato thing that screamed and squealed and kept us up at all hours of the night.

"Come meet your little brother," Dad said when they came home that day.

It balled up its fists (I just couldn't think of something so alien-like as a he or a she. It was just an it.) and shook them as it screamed with this terrible shock of black hair that stood up in the center of its head. _That_ was my little brother?

"Is this the only one they had to choose from? It's kind of ugly."

I remember Dad laughing and Mom doing that thing where she said "Dean" in a way that was half-amused, half-aghast. It's one of the few memories of her that I actually have, so I treasure it.

I guess that was the first way I learned to love Sammy. You know, because I didn't have a choice. They apparently did only have this one to choose from and we were stuck with him… ugly hair and all.

A Winchester man with bad hair… boy was our reputation bound to take a hit for that one. Seriously, next time we're picking out little brothers to bring home ('cause apparently there is a no return policy—they must just rope you in and when you wise up and realize you got a dud, they want to make sure you don't bring it back), I'm demanding to be taken along.

And that's how we got Sammy. I think a puppy might have been a better acquisition but, of course, nobody asked me.

* * *

I next learned to love Sammy with a teeny bit of aggression. After all, Mom wasn't there to smooth things over as we grew up, and Dad was rarely there to play mediator—though his idea of being mediator might well have involved some lesson on how to slash with a blade the right way, or 'no, boy, don't punch like that, you'll break your thumb,' so it was probably better that we worked out our differences ourselves.

Now, don't go being all judgmental about me or Dad. Dad was all about making everything a lesson, and frankly, those lessons have done a hell of a lot to keep me and Sammy both breathing over the years (with those few little mishaps that we try not to remember where one or both of us ceased to breathe for periods of time). And judging me is just—well, it's not like I did any lasting damage… the brain damage was probably there to begin with. That terrible hair probably rooted in his brain, twisting around in there and killing his brain cells, and I'm just not sure how that could be blamed on me.

As we got older, I have to admit he did sort of grow on me. I mean I would have felt guilty kicking a puppy (which was my first choice over a brother), but when it came to kicking Sammy, well, little brothers needed a good kick every now and then. It reminded them who was boss. And in our family, there was a clear hierarchy. I followed Dad's orders without question, and Sammy was supposed to follow mine. Stupid lippy little kid, he never did follow orders all that well. Always had some new idea about how to do it differently and better, or even worse he employed the "Do I have to, Dean?" or the "But why?" whining.

Of course, there were a few times, his radical thinking was helpful. I mean I'm open to new ideas of how to do this job, regardless of what Sam would tell you.

Of course, back then the way I loved Sam was completely different. He was just my little brother. Nothing more. Okay, a little more, but nothing like _that_. He was the bane of my existence, my constant responsibility, the pain in my ass that simply would not go away no matter how many times I tried to push him back. I hated being responsible for the little shit, but I hated even more the thought of disappointing Dad by letting something happen to him. Being an older brother, at least in this family, is harder than it looks. Besides, we've lost an awful lot. You learn early around here to cling to what you have left.

Back then, I loved Sammy out of necessity… sort of. Those things for which we are responsible… well, I guess we sort of grow to love them because there's a part of them that belongs to us... whether we want it or not. Dad had demons to chase, Mom's killer to catch, but Sammy was my responsibility. Someone had to look after Sammy, and that burden fell to me. He was my job… and after a while the stupid little brat… well, I guess he sort of grew on me a little… like a fungus or something.

* * *

Our family was always different. I may not know much, but I surely do know that. We aren't like other family groups, so I'm fairly certain we shouldn't be held to their same standards. At least that's what I tell myself. It makes the guilt a lot easier to bear.

Growing up, you're supposed to hate your little siblings, right? I mean, that's the way normal families work, isn't it? Well, I'm asking because I don't have much in the way of normal to use as a comparison. But see, it was never that way for me and Sam. I mean, sure, he was obnoxious and a pain, but there was a bond there that most brothers don't share, and it was recognizable even then.

And it's a little terrifying, all those mixed up feelings.

Maybe it's because he was always so big and goofy that I felt the need to look out for him even more than a normal big brother. Of course, it was really the monster thing, but I like to tell him it was because he was big and goofy. It makes him do that thing where he shakes his head and licks his lips, and holy fuck, any excuse to get him to do that—well, I'll take it.

We're two sides of the same coin, Sam and I. Both so different, yet so vital to one another, as to be cut from the same cloth, as Dad used to be so fond of saying. I don't think I ever truly understood that until recently—to really get how much a part of me Sam really is. Of course, Dad never knew how things really were between us.

And I find it strange even now that we need one another so badly. We're just not anything alike, Sam and I. I mean, really, could we be more different?

Sam has bad hair (you would think he might have grown out of that, but I guess not), horrible taste in music (I'm not even sure I can call it "music," frankly), and then there's those totally unmanly dimples… which do not turn me on in the least. What? _They don't._

He's completely unlike me with my perfect hair, killer taste in music—I mean could it possibly ever get any better than AC/DC? You'll want to answer that carefully, I carry a big knife-and my face—well perfection doesn't even come close to describing it. That was a joke… mostly… all except the stuff about the music. I never joke about my music.

Now we're all grown up and the way I love Sam couldn't be more different than those days of childhood dependence. I mean, I still look out for him. That part of the job never changes, but now I find that I need him just as much as I feel responsible for him… and want him in ways that never were a part of the job description.

* * *

It could be any motel room in any town U.S.A. It's mostly the same, with only bits and pieces of variety.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks, peeking his head out from behind his laptop, with books spread out on the table before him.

"Just thinking."

"Well, at least you're broadening your horizons and trying something new. Don't strain something."

"Ha-ha, aren't you the joker? We can't all be smartass book worms. And why would we want to be? That's probably the better question." I stood, moving from where I'd been reclining on the uncomfortable mattress of the motel room's bed. You'd think I'd get used to uncomfortable beds, having not had one that truly belonged to me for as far back as I could remember, but I just never did. The damn things always made me stiff and sore. I think I'd feel more rested most nights sleeping in the backseat of the Impala. "Did you find whatever the hell it was that Bobby wanted you to research?"

"No, but it wasn't for lack of trying. I'm out of places to look, frankly," he said, grimacing and running his hand through his hair. And that was all it took to send my heart beating in triple time and my pulse racing away with desire.

I did my best to keep myself under control and as long as he didn't lick his lips or show his dimples, I might be able to pull it off. "Do you think it's important?"

"Well, Bobby thinks so, and he's not usually wrong."

True enough. One could usually count on Bobby to be right on the money about… well most everything. He was Bobby, that's what he did. I must have looked odd, based on Sam's next question.

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you—" My words broke off when Sam smiled, showing his dimples. _Fuck._ My cock had been half-hard before he used the heavy ammunition: those damned dimples of his. Now, I had a raging hard on. It was as though someone had pressed my "on" switch. Of course, I guess _someone_ had. My little brother. I took a seat back down on the bed and Sam came over.

"You don't look so good, Dean." He pushed me back on the bed, his hand pushed hard against my crotch as I reclined, lifting my head to watch as he pulled the buckle of my belt free. "Thought this might be the problem."

"The tent in my pants give it away?" He knew me too well. Sometimes it was scary how well he knew me.

"You don't do subtle all that well, that's for sure… but even if you did, you can't hide things from me."

"Hmph, I thought I _was_ rather subtle that time." I raised my hips as Sam tugged his pants down my thighs and leaned forward, Sam's mouth hovering just over where I longed to feel its warmth moist heat the most.

"Not slamming me back against the wall is definitely an improvement, but I don't think I'd go so far as to call that subtle." Sam flashed me those dimples again, looking out at me, tilting his head over to the side, so I could see his face beneath the tumbled forward state of his hair.

The warm breath from Sam's words ghosted over my already straining cock and I groaned impatiently. The time for talk was over. His hand grasped my hip and his lips pressed against the juncture where my body met my thigh. I was desperate for more. I didn't want to wait. Foreplay wasn't something I was all that interested in. I didn't need the playful kisses or the soft touches—not tonight anyway. I was more of an instant gratification guy… which Sam knew. "What are you waiting for, Sam?" I grumbled, impatiently.

"You know, Dean, some people do this and they actually take longer than ten minutes. Stop being so impatient, yeah?"

"Some people aren't us. Some people don't have a world to save."

"That excuse is becoming tired," Sam said, his lips nowhere near my cock, which was frustrating.

"Tired, but that doesn't make it any less valid. Do we not have a world to save?"

"We do, but—"

"No buts. Let's get on with it then."

Sam gave me _that_ look and I groaned a far more frustrated groan than the lusty ones I was making before. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'll be patient." I knew that look Sam was giving me too well not to just apologize right away. If not, this was going to end fairly quickly with less than satisfying results, and I was going to have no friends tonight that didn't include my right or left hand. And while my hands and I were certainly well acquainted (we'd had our share of fun together on lonely nights), it wasn't their company I was craving for this night.

"That's much better," Sam said, pacified that he had won this battle of wills. _Enjoy it, Brother. I'll find a way to make you pay for that tomorrow._ After all, I couldn't let this well established Winchester family hierarchy be changed by a little brother who had forgotten his place in it.

Perhaps I was being rewarded for giving in so quickly. I didn't much care the reasons why, but I certainly liked the result when Sam's tongue licked out first over his lips, then over the length of my straining shaft.

"See what happens when you behave? You get rewarded; I give you what you want."

Oh yeah, he was getting left on the side of the road for a couple of miles back tomorrow and he'd be doing some walking to find the car. My little brother needed a reality check about who got to do the rewarding in this family. It certainly wasn't him, though I was not opposed specifically to this kind of reward, only the amount of entitlement that came with it.

His lips closed around my cock and I almost forgot my plans to leave him behind tomorrow… almost. He applied just the right amount of pressure with his suction, twirling his tongue around the head of my cock as my hands tangled in that ridiculous hair of his.

This was how we worked best. Together. Complete. In all ways.

"Fuck, yes." It was just what I needed. But then, that was no surprise. Sam always was just what I needed. I'd only grown to need him in different ways over the years. Fortunately, it seemed he needed me just as much and in just as many different ways… all ways.

His mouth slid up and down me, one hand grasping the base of my dick and the other cupping my balls, rolling them gently, until I felt like my head might well explode along with my balls. I came fast and hard, tightening my grip in Sam's hair, pressing him hard against me. "Fuck-yes-so-good-gonna-come." It all came out in one long string of jumbled up nonsense words as I spilled my release down Sam's throat. I gave him little warning, which I knew he hated, and held him tight against me when he probably would have pulled away otherwise. But I was determined to have the upper hand in some respects of this encounter.

* * *

Sam came walking up the road, the sun blazing overhead as I stood beside my beloved old girl. I saw him long before he ever made it to the car. "Nice walk, little brother?"

"I fucking hate you."

I laughed. Mission accomplished.

"My feet hurt. And did I mention that I fucking hate you?"

"Get in," I said with a grin, content now in re-establishing my place in this family, and making sure Sammy knew his. "We need to make Dallas by tonight."

"Fine," Sam said with a snort. "But I'm choosing the music today, since you're a complete ass."

I sighed. Clearly, someone was going to need another lesson.


End file.
